


gotta have love (to carry on living)

by blondsak, Gruoch



Series: love without end [2]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies), Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: A Pinch of Angst, F/M, Father-Son Relationship, Gritty Domestic Bliss, Humor, NYC Loves Spidey, Peter Needs a Very Long Nap, Peter Parker is a Good Dad, and an okayish teacher
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-01
Updated: 2021-01-19
Packaged: 2021-03-10 17:27:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 12,857
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28480893
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blondsak/pseuds/blondsak, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gruoch/pseuds/Gruoch
Summary: Peter grimaces, rubbing at the stubble covering his jaw. “It’s just...the idea of him out there...”“I know you’re scared,” Michelle says. “But I think it might be time for you to consider teaching him.”Peter turns around to face her, his eyebrows raised. “Are youseriouslyokay with that? After what happened?”“No, I’m not,” Michelle says calmly. “I’m just as scared as you are, the same way I’m scared every time you go out. But I know Ben. I know how good his heart is, I know how much he cares and how stubborn he is.” She offers Peter a small, wistful smile. “He’s his father’s son. And I’m proud of him, just like I’m proud of you.”Or: Five months after the night Peter’s thirteen year-old son almost diedandhis parents discovered he inherited his father’s powers, Ben is begging to be properly trained. Between looking after a newborn, worries about job security and finances, and dealing with a super-powered kid whose kindness and courage far outweigh his experience, well—the chaos never ends for Peter. It’s a good thing those reports of a giant lethal lizard hanging out in the sewers can’t possibly be true… right?
Relationships: Michelle Jones/Peter Parker
Series: love without end [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2082567
Comments: 159
Kudos: 135





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [seekrest](https://archiveofourown.org/users/seekrest/gifts).



> Happy early birthday seekrest! We hope you enjoy this story about your favorite disaster man being a (mostly) not-disaster dad!

The alarm that loudly jangles Peter out of sleep is entirely too cheerful for the early hour.

He reaches an arm out, fumbling a hand over the surface of the bedside table for his cell phone. It takes him a couple of tries to turn off the alarm, his fatigued limbs uncooperative and clumsy. He rolls over onto his back and peels one puffy eyelid open, then the other, squinting up at the water stain on the ceiling directly over his head.

“Ugh,” he groans, low and drawn out, blinking heavily. He swings one leg out from under the rumpled sheets, then the other. He drags himself into an upright position, grimacing at the sharp twinge of pain in his lower back before hauling himself out of bed with another groan.

He shuffles bent-backed down the hall to the bathroom, clumsily navigating past stacks of moving boxes that have yet to be unpacked despite the fact that they’ve been in their new apartment for well over a month now.

Peter stands at the bathroom sink and splashes cold water over his face in an ineffectual attempt to wake himself up more, frowning at his reflection in the mirror as he investigates the heavy black bags under his eyes and the new crop of grey hairs that seems to have sprung up overnight. 

“Ugh,” he groans again, shuffling back out of the bathroom and down the hall to the kitchen.

He perks up a little when he gets there and finds Michelle sitting at the table, looking as exhausted as Peter feels but somehow more beautiful than ever while baby Anna furiously nurses in her arms. Ben sits across from them, stuffing his face with sugary cereal and absorbed with some game he’s playing on the new Nintendo Switch Tony’s spoiled him with, headphones clamped over his ears.

“Good morning,” Michelle greets Peter with a tired smile.

“Ugh,” Peter replies, He tries to lean over to kiss her but another sharp painful twinge in his lower back halts the attempt. He kisses his palm and presses it to the top of her head, instead, while she looks up at him, her smile turning into a worried frown. 

“You need to see your doctor again,” she tells him firmly. “It’s been weeks since you got hurt. That’s not normal.”

“Eh, it’s fine. I’m just getting old,” Peter says dismissively as he hobbles over to the coffee maker.

“You’re thirty-eight, not eighty-five,” Michelle says dryly as she lifts Anna to her shoulder and pats her little back to burp her.

“Yeah, well, I’m  _ feeling _ like I’m eighty-five this morning.”

Michelle snorts. “Rough night?” 

_ “Brutal.  _ I feel like I ran six marathons in a row while dragging a bus,” Peter complains as he pours himself a cup of coffee. “My knees are wrecked. It was just one thing after another,  _ endless.  _ And the  _ screaming.  _ Like, come on, I’m already up all night killing myself for you, you can’t at least take the volume down a notch or three?”

Michelle raises her eyebrows. “Sounds like a hell of a patrol.”

Peter frowns in confusion. “Huh? Oh, no—my patrol was fine. Really quiet, actually. I’m talking about being up with the baby all night long. She has some  _ serious  _ lungs on her. Did Ben scream like that?”

Michelle smiles grimly, shaking her head. “He was louder. Remember the colic?”

“Ugh, the colic,” Peter groans, hobbling over to the table with his coffee and gingerly easing himself down onto a chair. “How did we survive that? No wonder it took us over a decade to have another kid. He had those weird green poops, too. What a gross baby.”

“I can  _ hear _ you,” Ben says, scowling at him over his Nintendo.

“Can you?” Peter asks, plucking the headphones off Ben’s head. “The ‘no headphones at the table’ rule we had at the old apartment is still being enforced here in the new abode, pal.”

Ben snatches them back, cradling them possessively against his chest. “I  _ have  _ to wear these headphones, or be scarred for life. My bedroom shares a wall with yours and Mom’s now, and the super spider hearing that  _ you  _ gave me means I can hear everything.”

Peter chokes on his coffee. “Everything?”

“ _ Everything, _ ” Ben says pointedly, as he hangs the headphones around his neck.

But then his expression turns hopeful, almost ingratiating. “You know, Dad, if you need a break or something, I can always help.”

Peter raises an eyebrow at him. “Are you volunteering for diaper duty?”

Ben makes a face. “What? No. I’m saying you could, you know—train me to be Spider-Man so I can help you out.”

“No,” Peter says immediately, shaking his head. “Not happening.”

“But, Dad—“

“I said  _ no,” _ Peter says more sharply. “We’ve talked about this. You’re not putting a suit on until you’re eighteen. Until then, you just need to be a  _ normal  _ kid.”

“But I’m  _ not  _ a normal kid,” Ben protests stubbornly. “And neither were you—you were doing this when  _ you  _ were around my age.”

“Yeah, which is why I know better than anyone that you  _ shouldn’t _ be out there,” Peter snaps back.

Ben clenches his jaw, looking for a moment like he’s going to keep arguing. But then he sits back, deflated, a hurt, frustrated look on his face.

“Whatever, I gotta go to school,” he mumbles, grabbing his stuff and heading for the apartment door.

“Benji, honey,” Michelle calls to him gently.

But Ben snatches up his backpack and walks out, closing the door hard behind himself.

Peter looks at the closed door for a moment, and then his shoulders collapse, a whoosh of air leaving his lungs.

“Was I too harsh?” he asks glumly.

“A bit,” Michelle confirms.

Peter grimaces, rubbing at the stubble covering his jaw. “Shit...I’ll talk to him after school. I don’t wanna be an ass about it. It’s just...the idea of him out there...”

He trails off with another sigh, pressing a hand briefly to his eyes before he gets up, wincing again, and goes over to the sink to rinse his mug. 

Michelle gets up, too, laying Anna in her swing. She walks up behind Peter, wrapping her arms around his waist and pressing her cheek between his shoulder blades.

“I know you’re scared,” she murmurs. “But I think it might be time for you to consider teaching him.”

Peter turns around to face her, his eyebrows raised. “Are you  _ seriously _ okay with that? After what happened?”

“No, I’m not,” Michelle says calmly. “I’m just as scared as you are, the same way I’m scared every time you go out. But I know Ben. I know how good his heart is, I know how much he cares and how stubborn he is.” She offers Peter a small, wistful smile. “He’s his father’s son. And I’m proud of him, just like I’m proud of you.”

Peter sighs again, dragging a hand down his face. He looks at Michelle, his eyes glossy. “You’re right. I just...I keep seeing him in that hospital bed, afraid and in pain, and...we were  _ so close _ to losing him, MJ. I don’t know if I can handle that again.”

“I don’t think you have much of a choice,” Michelle says gently, rubbing his arms. “Ben’s going to do this either way, with or without you.” She smiles again, a little wryly. “He’s been hearing the whole ‘with great power comes great responsibility’ thing since he was in diapers. And if he’s going to do this, then I’d feel better knowing that he’s not doing it alone. And I think you would agree.”

Peter looks down for a moment, chewing the inside of his cheek. He lifts his head to meet Michelle’s eyes, managing a small, grim smile.

“I’ll think about it,” he tells her reluctantly.

* * *

Peter panics when the doorbells buzzer goes off a week later, doubling the pace at which he’s stuffing the last of the unpacked boxes into the hallway closet.

He hears MJ call from the kitchen for Ben to get the door. A few seconds later Ben flies out of his bedroom and right past him, and in his haste to get to the entryway accidentally jabs a knobby elbow right into the small of Peter’s back.

“Watch it, Ben!” Peter exclaims even as a sharp pain flares, causing him to let go of the precariously balanced stack as he brings his hands to press instinctively against his lower back. 

It’s the fatal distraction. 

Peter yelps with dismay as the tall pile of boxes topples out of the closet and with a crash, lands on the carpet all around his feet. He groans, closing his eyes and letting his forehead hit the wall with a dull  _ thump _ —still trying to massage the pain away.

“Everything alright, sweetheart?” a familiar voice calls out in amusement from the end of the hall.

“Just peachy, May,” Peter replies, wearily lifting his head up to give her a beleaguered smile. 

May just laughs, pulling off her spring coat as she strides up to him—mindful of the mess on the floor—and presses a gentle kiss to his cheek. “You know, Happy and I don’t care if you two are still unpacking. No need to try to hide it on our account.”

“I know, but it’s your first time here,” Peter huffs out as he starts to organize the boxes in smaller stacks against the wall—purposely ignoring the twinge he feels every time he leans over to pick one up. “I wanted the place to look nice.”

“That’s very sweet of you, honey, but these days I honestly only  _ really _ care about two things when I see your family, and neither of them is the cleanliness of your apartment,” May replies. “Speaking of, I already gave my grandson a hug. Now where’s my granddaughter?”

As if on cue, Anna lets out a small cry—likely having been awakened by all the noise just a minute before. Peter sighs in defeat. With an encouraging nod he says to May, “Probably looking for cuddles from Grandma, from the sounds of it.”

“You don’t have to twist my leg,” May says, giving Peter a loving squeeze on the shoulder as she disappears into the nursery. 

By the time Peter has everything arranged enough so that the hallway is no longer a safety hazard, everyone is already seated at the table.

“Hey Pete,” Happy says, although he barely so much as glances Peter’s way—too busy cooing at Anna, who is still in May’s arms.

“Hey Hap,” Peter greets anyway, taking a seat. To MJ he says, “Is there anything I can do to help?”

“You can help by giving me a giant serving of pasta,” MJ replies, handing over her plate. “And don’t skimp on the sauce either.”

“Your wish is my command,” Peter says. He stands up to give the plate back, leaning over and giving MJ a kiss as he sets it down. “Thank you for cooking tonight, Shelly-Jelly-Bean.”

_ “Gross,”  _ Ben pipes up from where he’s seated between them, looking thoroughly disgusted. 

“You’ll understand when you’re older,” Peter jokes, ruffling Ben’s curls playfully. 

Rather than laughing gamely as he normally would, Ben instead violently ducks away, shooting a nasty scowl at his dad. With a sigh Peter picks up his plate. “How much pasta do you want, kiddo?”

“I don’t care,” Ben grumbles.

Peter frowns, uncertain if calling out the attitude is worth it. After all, it’s not like he doesn’t know why Ben is being so bratty toward him. From out of the corner of his eye he catches May eyeing them curiously.

Putting on a brave face, Peter tries again. “Well, knowing your appetite lately, I’m going to guess one plateful won’t be near enough no matter how much I manage to pile on it. Isn't that right, Ben?”

“Whatever,” is the mumbled, sullen reply. 

Biting back another sigh, Peter sets the full plate down in front of him—not missing the look MJ gives him over Ben’s head. He ignores it for now, turning to Happy and May with a congenial smile.

“Hap? May? Can I interest you two in some delicious spaghetti?”

After dinner the group retires into the living room, Peter turning on some music as Ben and Happy lay on the floor with Anna while she has tummy time, and MJ and May visit on the couch. Peter watches the scene from an armchair for a few minutes before offering to make coffee for the adults and disappearing into the kitchen. 

He’s just finished putting the coffee on to percolate and is leaning over the counter tiredly when May comes in.

“Penny for your thoughts?” she asks, setting a hand between his shoulder blades affectionately.

Peter shakes his head. “Pretty sure I’d owe  _ you _ if I made you listen to all that.”

“Try me,” May says wryly. “So what’s going on between you and Benji?”

“You caught that, huh?”

“A train barreling through the room would have been more subtle, sweetheart,” May says with a smirk. 

Peter lets out a deep breath. “Ben wants me to start training him, like  _ really  _ training him, so he can start patrolling. And MJ agrees.”

“But you don’t feel ready for that.”

“No, I don’t,” Peter says, frustration bleeding into his tone. “And frankly I don’t really get how everyone else seems to think  _ I’m _ the crazy one for not wanting my thirteen-year-old son out on the streets tangling with criminals every night.”

“Nobody sane would think that’s crazy, Pete,” May gently replies. “But I have to admit, I do kind of see where Benji and Michelle are coming from.”

“Wait, you’re on their side?” Peter exclaims. He’s more confused than anything else when he adds, “I just—I figured of all people, you’d see my point.”

“Of course I see your point, sweetheart, but I also…” May pauses, gathering her thoughts. “Do you remember how furious I was with Tony when I found out what you two had been up to behind my back? And that you’d been going out by yourself for months before that?”

Peter chuckles at the memory. “Yeah, I don’t think it’d be possible to forget the tongue-lashing you gave him. I could have swung to Jersey and probably still have been able to hear it.”

“And did you ever stop to wonder why I directed all my anger at Tony rather than you?”

“Because Tony was an adult?” Peter offers.

“Well, sure. But you were also fifteen, which was more than old enough to get the full brunt of my fury over lying to me for months,” May tosses back without heat. “No, the reason I didn’t give you the same treatment was because I was scared.”

“Scared?” Peter asks. “Why? Pretty sure you held all the cards in that situation, May. If you were scared,  _ I _ was utterly terrified.”

May gives him a look. “I was scared because I knew that no matter what, I couldn’t hold you back from being Spider-Man. Not because of who you are when you wear the mask, but because of who you are even when you don’t. Because it was in your DNA to help others long before your enhancements came along.” May sighs, shaking her head. “You would never have stopped, Pete, not even for me. Which is why I knew even from the very moment I caught you in the suit that I had to be one-hundred percent supportive, or risk losing you.”

“Losing me?” Peter repeats, brow furrowing with equal parts concern and love. “You would  _ never _ have lost me, May. You have to know that.”

“Maybe not entirely,” May agrees. “But if I’d tried to stop you it would have only led to more secrets, which would have turned into resentment on both our parts eventually. And I couldn’t let that happen, no matter how much I hated the thought of the child I loved more than my own life putting himself in danger every night for the sake of complete strangers.”

“So,” Peter says slowly, “you think I should train Ben because if I don’t…”

“Then what happened tonight could all too easily become the status quo,” May says. “So whatever you do, don’t let this put a wedge between you two. Not when it’s actually within your capabilities to train him and help keep him safe, unlike–” 

May cuts herself off with a small sniffle, and Peter pulls her into his arms. “I love you so much, May.”

“I love you too,” she says into Peter’s shoulder. After a few moments she pulls away and gives him a wet smile. “So what do you say?”

Peter closes his eyes. Immediately the image of Ben in the medbay—so quiet and young and hurt—comes to mind. But it’s quickly replaced with the way Ben had been avoiding him the last week—only communicating with sullen looks and angry, terse words. 

He can’t stand either choice, but May— _ and MJ, _ he mentally notes, thinking back to their conversation the week before—are right. In the end, it’s no contest, not when Ben’s going to do this either way. Hell, already  _ did _ do it behind their backs. 

(And if underneath all the fear and worry Peter is secretly a little proud of him for that, well, nobody has to know anyway.)

He opens his eyes again, looks at May. “I say that it’s time to let Ben know I’ve changed my mind.”

He barely has the words out when a giant crow of excitement is heard from the living room, startling them both.

“Seriously, Dad?” Ben yells. “Thank you thank you  _ thank you!!” _

“Hey!” Peter calls back as May laughs. “What did your mom tell you about listening in on private conversations?”


	2. Chapter 2

“Alright, young Padawan. Day one of Spider-Man training,” Peter says, hands on his hips as he looks down at Ben. “Did you eat a good snack?”

“Yep,” Ben chirps.

“Finish your homework?”

“Sure did.”

“Stretch? Did your warm up exercises?”

“Yes and yes, Dad.”

“Used the bathroom?”

_ “Dad. _ Can we please get started?”

“Hey, I’m just trying to help you out here,” Peter says. “Once you get that suit on, it is  _ not  _ easy to get it back off if nature calls.”

Ben makes an exasperated noise. “I don’t have to go to the bathroom, okay?”

“Okay,” Peter says, pressing his fist into his other palm and cracking his knuckles. “Let’s get started, then.”

They’re standing on top of a residential building in a quiet neighborhood not far from their new apartment. Ben bounces up and down on his toes, practically vibrating with nervous, excited energy. He’s wearing one of Peter’s old suits from his own teenage years, the very first suit Peter made himself. The elbows and knees are a little worn out, and it’s been mended countless times, but it fits Ben nearly perfectly. Peter feels an almost painful pang of nostalgia looking at him, along with a twist of grief in the pit of his stomach. 

He presses through it, turning to face Ben. Peter holds out the suit’s mask.

“First rule of Spider-Man—always wear a mask,” he says. “This is your shield between yourself and your enemies—and you’re gonna make a lot of enemies. You guard your identity like your life depends on it, because it  _ literally  _ does. And not just your life—you put that suit on, and everyone you care about is now a target. Your neighbors, your friends, that kid in algebra class you’re crushing on, your family—Mom. Your baby sister.  _ Everyone.  _ You keep your identity secret, and you keep the people you care about safe. Understand?”

“Yes, sir, I understand,” Ben says solemnly, standing up taller. He takes the mask from Peter, holding it in his hands for a moment and looking down at it. Then he takes a deep breath and tugs it on over his head. 

He looks up at Peter, the lenses of the mask narrowing and dilating a few times.

“Whoa. This is so cool,” Ben says, back to sounding excited.

Peter smiles behind his own mask, despite his lingering trepidations. “Very cool. You look good, dude.”

“Do we get to swing now?” Ben asks eagerly.

“Not yet. I haven’t told you the  _ most  _ important lesson on being Spider-Man,” Peter says gravely, reaching out and grasping Ben by both shoulders.

Ben looks up at him, the lenses of his mask gone wide once more. “More important than the mask?”

“Equally important, at least. I learned this lesson from old Matt Murdoch, one of the best heroes I’ve been blessed to call my friend.”

“Matt Murdock? You’re talking about... _ Daredevil,”  _ Ben says, awed.

“Yep. The Devil of Hell’s Kitchen. Hornbread, to his friends—his friends being me. Big Red, if I’m feeling flirty. He taught me this secret when I was just a little older than you, and it completely transformed my game. Made me a better superhero in every way. Faster. Stronger. More tireless. And now...I’m passing this sacred wisdom on to you, my son.”

“I’m ready, Dad, I promise,” Ben says, squaring his skinny shoulders under Peter’s grasp.

Peter nods, holding Ben’s gaze as he leans closer, dropping his voice. “The secret...is this...smear a thin layer of Gold Bond Friction Defense cream all over the twig and berries and along the buttcrack, then liberally dust over that with baby powder—don’t skimp, really work it into all the nooks and crannies. It’ll be smooth sailing even in the middle of summer.”

Ben groans, shrugging out from under Peter’s hands.  _ “Dad! _ Quit joking around.”

“I’m  _ not  _ joking around. Trust me, kid, you start swinging around and sweating in that suit, and you’ll chafe parts of your body you didn’t even know you  _ had,”  _ Peter says. “Before I learned about the Gold Bond and baby powder routine, I used to come home with my gooey bag looking like raw hamburger meat. Try stopping an armed robbery while you feel like your undies are full of angry fire ants, pal. It’s  _ not  _ a good time.”

Ben groans again, pressing his hands to his face. “Can you  _ please _ just teach me how to web swing?”

“Alright, alright,” Peter says, clapping Ben on the back and steering him towards the roof’s ledge. “Step on up. Check your web fluid.”

“Full canisters,” Ben confirms, holding up his hands and checking the web shooters strapped to his wrists.

“Excellent,” Peter says, clapping him on the back again. “Okay—we’re gonna start nice and easy. Just swing over to that building there across the street. Aim, fire, swing. Trust your Spidey-sense. Got it?”

“Got it,” Ben confirms. He shuffles closer to the ledge, then takes a deep breath and extends an arm, carefully taking aim. 

“Just aim and fire,” Peter says again.

“I know, Dad,” Ben says tersely, arm still extended. He stands like that for a very long moment, frozen.

Peter finally clears his throat. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah, yeah, it’s just…” Ben looks down into the alleyway between the buildings. “This is a  _ lot  _ higher up than I thought it was.”

Peter snorts. “This is nothing, kid. Wait till I take you over to Midtown, with all those skyscrapers. But first—you gotta make it across the street to that building.”

Ben swallows audibly, but he takes another breath and squares his shoulders again as he takes aim and fires a web across the street.

“I did it!” he says breathlessly as the web attaches itself securely to the brick.

“Yup. Nice one—now  _ swing.”  _

Ben takes a shaky breath, grasping the web line with both hands. He steps off the building, shouting as he swings across the street, legs pedaling in the air. He hits the brick wall on the other building sideways, hard. There’s a brief scramble of limbs, and then he’s losing his grip and falling with a quavering wail. He lands among the piles of black trash bags in the open dumpster in the alleyway below.

“Oy,” Peter groans, dragging a hand down his masked face. He leans over the edge of the rooftop and calls down to Ben. “You okay, bud?”

An arm emerges from the trash bags, giving a thumbs up. “I’m good.”

“Okay. Back on the horse. Climb up and try it again.”

Ben tries again. And again. And again. And again.

“Okay, maybe this time you just stay down there and watch how I do it,” Peter suggests, calling down to Ben after he has once more ended up in the dumpster.

Ben gives him another weak thumbs up from among the trash bags. “Good idea. I’m cool with that.”

“Alright. Watch closely, son,” Peter says, cracking his knuckles. “Here’s how an old pro does it. Just aim, fire, and swing. One day it will be as easy as breathing.”

Peter thwips out a web and steps off the roof, sailing gracefully across the street. He lifts his legs as he approaches the building’s wall, getting ready to lightly land against it. 

Instead, a sharp, stabbing pain lances through his lower back as the motion aggravates his old injury. The agony makes his muscles seize up, and he slams hard into the brick before falling, his limbs flailing uselessly. He lands in the dumpster next to Ben, disturbing a cloud of black flies.

“Dad? You okay?” Ben asks, rustling around in the trash bags.

Peter brushes moldy food waste off his chest, nodding. “Yep. I’m great. I meant to do that, actually. You know—for moral support. Didn’t want you to feel discouraged down here alone in this dumpster.”

“Sure, Dad,” Ben says kindly.

* * *

Peter pulls the plug on the sink, letting the sudsy water drain as he starts to wipe the counter down. Once he’s all finished he heads into the living room—grimacing to himself when he sees Michelle on the couch wearing his mask and chuckling. He has no doubt Karen is showing her today’s highlights.

She pulls it off when she feels him collapse down next to her, smirking. “So how did training go?”

Peter leans back until he’s staring up at the ceiling and lets out a long sigh. “Tell me the truth, Em. Was I  _ that  _ bad at all this when I was first starting out?”

“No,” Michelle answers honestly. “You were worse.”

Peter groans, throwing an arm over his face “I don’t know if I can do this day in and out. At least, not on top of the uncertainty with the Future Foundation grant. We only have enough left in the pot to pay the lab assistants through the end of next month. If we don’t figure something out by then…”

Michelle's tone is sympathetic when she asks, “Did you talk to Connors about looking for alternative funding methods, like you wanted?”

“I tried to, at least,” Peter mumbles. “But it’s like talking to a brick wall. All he’ll say is that we have to do something  _ big _ to get the Foundation’s attention, whatever that means. He won’t even consider other options.”

Michelle rubs his arm soothingly. “Maybe it’s time to talk to Tony and Pepper?”

Peter lifts his arm from his face to raise an eyebrow at her. “I can’t believe you— _ you _ —just suggested that.” He lowers his arm back over his eyes and shakes his head. “And no, not yet. Taking a job at SI as some sort of handout is a last resort. An  _ only-if-we-can’t-pay-for-diapers-or-keep-the lights-on _ kind of last resort.”

“Hey, you know I’m good with that,” Michelle says with a snort. More gently, “I’m sure the grant will come through, Pete. Or if not, something else will work itself out in the end—it always does.”

“I mean, sure,” Peter agrees, “but usually only after I spend way too much time worrying and angsting over all of it to the point that I give myself an ulcer.”

“Give yourself  _ some  _ credit,” Michelle teases, leaning over and pecking him on the lips. “That’s only happened, what, three times?”

Peter grumbles unintelligibly. But there’s a playful smirk on his face when he lifts his arm again, this time twisting around so he can kiss Michelle properly. “Y’know, I can think of one way we could  _ both _ get our minds off everything…”

Just then, the sound of a small cry is heard down the hallway, the only warning they get before it's shortly followed by a high-pitched scream. 

Michelle pats Peter’s chest tenderly before standing up. “Maybe later, tiger. Though if the last few attempts are any indication, we’ll pass out before we even hit third base.”

Peter groans, stretching out on the couch in defeat.

* * *

“Where are we going?” Ben asks as he swings alongside Peter through the city. “This neighborhood seems kinda sketchy.”

A few more weeks of training has seen Ben make leaps and bounds in progress. He’s a quick learner and a natural talent, swiftly getting a hang of the web swinging and only very occasionally winding up in a dumpster. 

Peter feels a swell of pride that grows with each of his son’s successes, a furious love and admiration every time Ben picks himself up after a disaster. It doesn’t quite quell the guilt and fear that linger in the back of his mind like a bad smell, but Peter imagines nothing ever will. Love and fear—the two equal sides of his heart. 

“We’re taking your training to the next level tonight, bud. I think you’re ready to do a little heavy lifting on your own,” Peter replies as they sail between two buildings. Whether Peter himself is ready for that is another matter entirely, but he knows he’s going to have to loosen the reins up eventually.

“The next level?” Ben asks eagerly as he flips through the air, whooping.

“Yep,” Peter replies, scanning the dark streets below as they swing overhead.

They pass a few more blocks, and then Peter spots the perfect bit of action—a pair of men tussling with each other in an alleyway behind a seedy bar.

“Bingo,” Peter says, changing direction mid-air and swooping down to land stealthily on a rooftop above the alley. 

Ben follows a little more clumsily, a bit out of breath as he drops down heavily beside Peter, stumbling over his feet as he lands. “What’s happening?”

“Looks to me like a good ol’ classic New York City mugging in progress,” Peter says cheerfully. “Think you can handle it?”

Ben looks at him, the lenses of his mask going wide. “You mean—by  _ myself?” _

Peter clucks his tongue. “Well, not exactly.”

Tony had given Peter a high-tech combat suit at fifteen-years-old and then set him loose on the streets of Queens. It had worked out alright, more-or-less, but Peter isn’t quite ready to go that hands-free with his own young charge.

“I’ll hide behind that dumpster there in case things get out of hand,” Peter explains, pointing to the dumpster. “We’ll open a comm link so I can walk you through it. But I have full faith in you, kiddo. Come on.”

He crawls down the wall, Ben following close behind. They both drop down to crouch behind the dumpster.

“Okay,” Peter whispers. “What you’re gonna want to do is use the element of surprise to your advantage. A lot of the time just showing up is enough to make these jerks run off. Keep your distance and watch for weapons. Just jump in there and make your presence known.”

Ben takes a deep breath, nodding. “Okay. Okay.”

Peter claps him on the shoulder. “You got this. I’m right here if you need me. Ready?”

“Ready,” Ben says, his voice determined.

“Alright. One, two, three—go!”

Ben leaps up, vaulting over the dumpster and flipping through the air. He lands in a crouch near the mugger and his victim, shouting, “Hey, bad guy!”

The mugger spins around, his eyes going wide with shock. “Spider-Man!”

Ben straightens up, jabbing a finger at him. “Freeze, in the name of the law!”

Peter clears his throat to get Ben’s attention. 

“Technically, you’re  _ not  _ the law, considering that you’re a vigilante,” Peter tells him over the comm. “Maybe work on your opening bit.”

Ben waves a hand impatiently. “Okay, whatever.”

“Hey, that’s not Spider-Man,” the mugger’s victim drunkenly slurs. “That’s just some kid.”

“Yeah, you’re right,” the mugger agrees, scowling. He makes a shooing gesture with the knife he holds. “Scram, kid.”

“I  _ am  _ Spider-Man,” Ben protests, shifting awkwardly on his feet. “I mean, I’m  _ gonna  _ be Spider-Man. Eventually. Soon.”

“Don’t let them get into your head,” Peter says. “Maintain control of the situation.”

“I dunno,” the victim continues dubiously. “You don’t look like the  _ real  _ Spider-Man. You look like some little squirt in a fancy costume.”

_ “I’m  _ the real Spider-Man,” Ben insists, his voice cracking inopportunely. “Dude, come on—I’m trying to rescue you here, why are you hassling me, man?”

“Yeah, you tell them!” Peter encourages.

“Dad, shut up,” Ben hisses over his shoulder.

“What the hell is going on here?” the mugger asks. He shakes his head, impatient, and waves the knife again. “Look, kid, this is none of your business. Get outta here.”

“It  _ is  _ my business,” Ben shoots back. “You’re assaulting that man, and you better stop, or I’ll…”

He trails off, floundering. 

The mugger sneers, rolling his eyes. “Or you’ll what, kid?”

Ben shifts his weight again, clearly uncomfortable. “Or...or I’ll…”

“Tell him you’ll punch his teeth out,” Peter instructs helpfully.

“Or I’ll punch your teeth out,” Ben finishes aggressively, holding his fists up.

“Yeah, lookin’ tough, kiddo,” Peter praises from behind the dumpster. “Only don’t actually punch him—we haven’t trained on pulling your punches yet. You could accidentally kill him, and that would be a  _ lot  _ of paperwork.”

“Dad, quit backseat superheroing,” Ben grounds out between clenched teeth.

“Who the hell are you talking to?” the mugger growls. “Is this some kind of joke?”

“You’re the only joke around here, buddy,” Ben jabs back. “And no one’s laughing, ‘cause you  _ suck!” _

“Nice one! Air-high-five, Benji,” Peter says. “Perfect Spider-Man quip.”

The mugger rolls his eyes again. “Alright. I’m all outta patience.”

He sticks a hand into his waistband and pulls a gun out, pointing it at Ben.

“Whoops, game over,” Peter says, vaulting over the dumpster.

But Ben’s even quicker—he thwips out a perfectly aimed web that covers the gun and the mugger’s hand, and then rapid-fires a second web to secure the man’s arms against his sides.

“Not bad, Spider-Kid,” the mugging victim praises, clapping his hands.

“Spider- _ Man,”  _ Ben corrects smugly, standing tall with his hands on his hips.

“Nice work, Spider-Man,” Peter says, pleased, as he gives Ben a high-five. “You handled that like a pro.”

“Thanks, Spider-Man. I learned from the best,” Ben says earnestly.

Peter smiles at him from behind his mask and rubs the top of Ben’s head affectionately, feeling choked up from the swell of pride rising again in his chest.

“Hey, hey, two Spider-Mans?” the mugging victim says as he pulls his phone out of his pocket. “Can I get a selfie? The boys in the bar ain’t gonna believe me.”

“I believe it’s Spider _ -Men,”  _ Peter corrects as he gathers Ben to his side and slings his other arm around the drunk man’s shoulders. “Say cheese, everybody.”

“Cheese,” the trio says in unison as the man snaps a selfie.


	3. Chapter 3

Peter’s lying sprawled face-down in bed with a heating pad laid across his aching lower back the following morning, exhausted after another night of training Ben and then doing his own patrolling, topped off with hours of endless pacing with a screaming baby here at home, when MJ comes into the bedroom.

“Maybe you should call in sick today,” she says gently, setting a cup of coffee on the bedside table for him.

“No, I’m alright,” Peter mumbles, turning his face to the side to squint at her with one bloodshot eye. “I can’t miss another day of work. We’re already barely scraping up enough cash to pay the rent here as it is. And Connors is in full-meltdown mode. If I don’t show up, he might throw some poor grad student out the lab window.”

MJ smiles, running her fingers through his hair. “Well, here—this might get your day off to a better start.”

She holds her phone out, angling it so Peter can see the screen, where a photo posted on the Daily Bugle’s site is displayed.

It’s a shot of Ben and Peter together, masked and suited up, during one of their nights out training. The headline above it reads NEW SPIDER-MAN: DOUBLE THE MENACE OR A NEEDED UPGRADE?

“Needed upgrade?” Peter says with a frown, groaning as he hauls his throbbing, exhausted body to sit upright, his knees popping loudly as he stiffly swings his legs over the side of the bed. “What’s wrong with the old model?”

MJ snorts. “Do you want me to list everything? You might be late to work.”

“I think I’m doing pretty good, all things considered,” Peter replies, a little miffed.

“You have blood in your hair,” MJ points out.

Peter reaches up to finger the stiff congealed blood matting his hair. “Yeah, okay, but it’s not _my_ blood this time.”

“That’s arguably even worse,” MJ says, picking up the mug of coffee and handing it to him.

Peter takes a sip of it, frowning at the photo on the phone’s screen again. “I feel offended by this, but also so proud I could legit cry. I’m prouffended.”

“I’m just proud,” MJ says, cupping his scruffy face in her hands and bending down to kiss him. “Of you and Benji, both.”

“Mm, well, in that case I don’t care about what anyone else says. Your opinion is the only one that matters,” Peter says, kissing her back. 

“Yours, and J.J. Jr.’s,” he adds, petulantly scrolling down the Bugle’s page to see if there’s anything else written about Spider-Man.

It’s nothing but the usual sensationalist garbage and fearmongering. Peter makes a face as he skims a ludicrous article about a lizard-man spotted crawling in a subway tunnel in Manhattan, the over-the-top text accompanied by a grainy photo of the supposed creature.

“Man, the Bugle has really gone downhill since Jameson Senior retired,” Peter says as he hands the phone back to MJ and drags himself the rest of the way out of bed. “They‘ve resurrected the tired old ‘gators in the sewer’ myth. Really scraping the bottom of the barrel with that garbage. At least J. Jonah the Elder had some creative pizazz, you know?”

“Mm-hm. Creative pizazz...that’s very generous of you,” MJ says with an amused snort. “You’re getting soft as you approach middle-age.”

“Yeah, in more ways than one,” Peter agrees, pinching at his abs. He looks up at MJ with a sly, lascivious smile, swaggering over to her and wrapping his arms around her.

“You know what’s _not_ getting soft, though…” he says, waggling his eyebrows suggestively.

“Oh my god, that was terrible,” Michelle says with another snort, even as she puts her arms around his neck and pulls him closer for a kiss. “You’ll definitely be late for work.”

“Eh, I’m always late for work,” Peter says dismissively, kissing her again. “Connors didn’t hire me for my punctuality. I have many other skills.”

MJ smiles against his lips. “You sure do.”

“Yeah,” Peter says, nosing along her neck and reaching to undo the sash holding her robe closed. “How about I give you a demonstration of a few of them right now—”

A piercing howl from the nursery interrupts them.

Peter sags against MJ, groaning. “Nooooo, you gotta be kidding me.”

MJ pats his back, her smile turning into a wry grimace. “Tough luck, tiger.”

Peter groans again. “I _swear_ she has some kind of sixth sense that goes off whenever we’re about to get down.”

He drags himself upright, a resigned look on his face as he plods out of the bedroom and down the hall towards the wailing coming from the nursery.

* * *

“Hey Dad, do you hear that?” Ben asks over the comms the next evening, the two of them swinging through Manhattan together. 

“We’re not stopping a third time to take photos with the tourists, Ben,” Peter says tiredly as they get closer to the Queensboro Bridge. “That’s exactly why I wanted to show you TImes Square, remember? Because the more you get used to fans distracting you on patrol, the sooner you’ll realize–”

“‘How annoying it can be,’” Ben finishes reciting, sounding annoyed himself. “I _know,_ Dad, that’s not what–”

“And before you ask again, we’re _not_ stopping by the bodega in our suits,” Peter interrupts sternly. “Mr. Delmar might have been fooled before, but–”

“Dad–”

“–now he’s finally retired I don’t believe for a moment Adelina won’t figure it out and–”

_“Dad!”_

“What?”

“There’s screaming up ahead!”

“Huh?” Peter says, not hearing anything but city noises at first only for the duo to arrive at the bridge, where it suddenly becomes very apparent where said screaming—now all too obvious to his ears, and crap, is his hearing going too now?—is coming from. 

Directly ahead, about a fourth of the way across, there looks to be a bad accident on the second level—a bunch of cars having crashed into the back of each other at high speed. And most pressing of all, a city bus had driven over the top of the back half of a sedan—one half of its long shape perched precariously off the side of the bridge, above the pedestrian walkway and jutting out over the water far below. 

For a moment Peter is confused at the sight—the bridge’s steel trusses should have easily prevented such a situation—only to realize the problem a moment later: the pile-up had occurred in a construction zone where the large beams were being replaced in sections. Talk about bad luck.

“What do we do?” Ben asks, swinging faster until he’s just behind Peter. 

“I want you to start checking the cars and getting civilians away from any that are smoking or on fire. Don’t move anyone who’s trapped unless it’s a life-or-death situation—we leave that to the professionals if we can,” Peter orders. “And if you sense even a _tiny_ whiff of danger to yourself, you get out of there _immediately,_ understand?”

He doesn’t have to look over his shoulder to know Ben’s nodding. “What about you?”

“I’m going after the bus,” Peter replies just as they reach the bridge, each using a separate side of trusses to make their way to the crash. Out of the corner of his eye Peter sees Ben land on the pavement and run for the nearest vehicle, forcing himself to focus on the bus ahead—the bus which has just started to slide farther off the bridge, with only maybe half of the passengers safely exited out the back emergency door. 

With a grunt Peter flings himself down to the pedestrian walkway, arriving just as the bus is about to go all the way over the edge and into the cold water below. He flings out two rapid-fire webs as it passes over his head, the bus continuing over the side with the front facing directly downward, only to come to a bouncing halt as he leans over the edge, hands gripped tightly around the end of the webs. 

Normally Peter would have had no problem heaving even a full bus up to safety, easily hoisting it up. But it seems Parker Luck really has it out for him this time, as just then his entire back—arched forward as far as possible—turns into a long stretch of white-hot pain, emanating from the same spot that’s been giving Peter trouble for months now. 

He lets out a long, tortured grunt from the exertion of holding the bus up even as his entire body protests, forcing himself to hang on for dear life as he considers his options. Letting go of even one web to fling out other ones to attach the bus to the bridge isn’t an option, as that will only swing the large vehicle to one side and Peter will risk losing his other grip. But heaving it back up feels like an impossibility too—Peter crying out as he pulls with all his might only to fall forward again over the bent railing when his back spasms. 

Horror seizes him as his grip starts to come loose against his will, arms and fingers trembling from the pain. The bus passengers below are still screaming, and he can see some of their terrified faces through the windows. But he’s helpless to save them, quickly calculating with no small panic that at best he’ll be able to _maybe_ rescue one or two before the whole bus plunges beneath the surface.

Once more he tries to pull the bus up only to fall forward a second time, and this time his tenuous grip goes just a tiny bit too loose. But then, just as the webs are about to slip from out of his palms–

“Hang on, Spider-Man!”

Ben lands at Peter’s side, sending down two more webs and holding on tight, immediately taking half the burden of holding the bus aloft from Peter.

“On the count of three we pull!” Ben yells, “Three, two, one, _pull!”_

In tandem they both heave the bus up, bodies naturally falling into rhythm as by degrees they drag the bus over the ledge until finally the weight redistributes back onto the walkway, Ben letting go of his webs to physically turn the vehicle so it lands with a loud _thud_ back on its tires, albeit on the pedestrian walkway instead of the road.

Peter lets out a large sigh as he drops his webs, equal parts relief and pain management. He watches as Ben politely helps the passengers—all of whom appear to be uninjured besides some nasty cuts and contusions—out. 

The way they stop to profusely thank him, with one old lady in particular lifting Ben right off the ground to hug him to her chest has Peter’s own swelling with pride, even as he winces at the movement.

“Good work, Spider-Man,” he says as soon as Ben is finally free, the passengers now making their way down the path toward where Peter can see the flash of police car lights. “You really saved my behind, kiddo.”

“Are you okay?” Ben asks, concerned.

“I’ll be alright,” Peter reassures him, clenching his teeth to hold back a grunt of pain when he stretches out the tender muscles. “Might be time to take that day off and get some real rest, though… what do you say we get out of here, huh? I think I hear some Icy Hot calling my name.”

“Yeah, okay,” Ben agrees, both of them sending out webs to separate bridge beams and hurtling into the air. There’s a sudden round of applause and a bunch of loud whoopsfrom below, Peter looking down to see the car crash victims Ben helped on the street level all cheering and waving at him. He glances over at Ben to see the kid waving back as he yells, “You’re welcome!”

They’re just nearing the end of the bridge when a faint glow passes over their heads, Ben looking up first only to yell out, “Hi Johnny!”

“Hey kid!” Johnny yells back before swooping down so he’s both level and apace with Peter and Ben. He flies right up to Peter, mock-whispering, “Pssst, hey Pete? Not sure if you noticed this yet or not, but I think little Benny might already be a better Spidey than the original. Remind me—who’s that again?”

“Don’t make me web your mouth shut, Storm,” Peter banters back without even glancing over, Johnny laughing playfully as he flies up and over to Ben.

“Kickass work back there, Benny-boy,” Johnny compliments him. “Got there just in time to see you web on to that bus. You were the real MVP, kid.”

“Thanks, Johnny!” Ben calls back, Johnny giving him a salute before shooting off across the river, back toward Manhattan. 

“Did you hear that, Dad?” Ben exclaims into the comm. “Johnny thinks I kicked ass!”

“You sure did, bud,” Peter agrees, and _oh,_ there’s that pesky pride swelling again, this time to a near-tearful crescendo. He just manages not to let his emotions get the better of him, instead laughing as he watches Ben do a few somersaults just for the fun of it. 

Usually when they swing back to the apartment after a patrol, Peter naturally ends up in front, choosing the best path. But tonight he holds back, perfectly content to let the hero of the evening take the lead in his stead.

* * *

Peter wakes to the sound of small cries. With a tiny groan he tries to blink away the cobwebs from his mind, fumbling for the baby monitor on his nightstand in the dark. It was his night for Anna Duty, and next to him Michelle softly snores away, oblivious to the grimace her husband makes at the pale light of the monitor screen as he flicks it on. 

“I’m coming, sweetheart,” he whispers as Anna waves her arms with the beginnings of distress, probably in need of a diaper change or maybe just wanting to be held, as Peter had only just gotten up not an hour before to feed her. 

He barely holds back a grunt of pain as he rights himself in the bed. He had ended up taking two days off work after the bus crash, going up to the compound to see Dr. Del Rosario—the Avenger’s team doctor ever since Helen Cho had retired five years earlier—the very next day. Del Rosario had prescribed another week of bed rest, and for once Peter had every intention of following the doctor’s orders. But then Dr. Connors had been declared missing, throwing those plans into disarray and leaving Peter in charge of the lab. While Peter was certainly worried for his boss, there had been no clues to his whereabouts yet that either Spider-Man or the authorities had uncovered, and Peter had been too busy trying to figure out a way just to keep the project going the last week to think of much else, even his own health.

None of that matters at present however, not when his baby girl’s calling for him. He’s just about to stand up when he hears the click of a door, followed by the soft pads of light steps down the hallway toward Anna’s room. 

Brow furrowing with curiosity, Peter picks up the baby monitor again, turning on the camera—smiling to himself when he sees Ben walk up to Anna’s crib and lean over.

“Hey Anna-mal,” Ben greets softly, only to gently pick his baby sister up when her tiny arms reach for him. Carefully he walks over to the rocking chair and sits down, Anna making another small cry only for Ben to say, “Shhh, Annie. Don’t wake up Mom and Dad, okay?”

Although Peter knows it’s impossible for Anna to understand her brother’s words yet, it’s still mesmerizing to see how she immediately quiets down at them, fingers of one hand going up to her mouth while the other clenches a fist around one of Ben’s thumbs. 

“I wonder if you’re gonna be like me and dad,” Ben says to her almost conversationally after a minute, continuing to rock. “If you’ll have powers or not, y’know? I hope you do because I can’t _wait_ to show you everything Dad’s taught me. Not that he’s a bad teacher—well, _most_ of the time—but I just think it’d be neat for us to train together, wha'd’ya think?”

Anna softly coos in answer, and Ben jiggles her a little bit higher in his arms, close enough so that he can easily lean his head down and give her a forehead kiss. 

“But until then,” he continues in a whisper, “I’ll protect you, okay? Because that’s what Spider-Man does. He keeps everyone safe.”

Peter sniffles, watching his children through the screen until Ben—with all the grace his enhanced powers grant him—gently sets a sleeping Anna back in her crib only to return to his own room. By the time he turns off the monitor Peter’s eyes are filled with tears, and with another sniffle he wipes them off on his t-shirt before settling back down in bed again—wrapping his arms around Michelle who instinctively nestles back into his chest.

That all-too-familiar mix of love and fear burrows its way into Peter’s heart as he thinks about Ben’s words to Anna. It was the promise of a brother to his little sister, yes—but it’s also proof-positive that Ben deeply understands the responsibility on his shoulders that Peter had been trying to instill in him, even as he worried it would be too much too soon.

But that’s what he and Michelle were there for, Peter tells himself—to make sure that it _wasn’t_ too much. To make sure that Ben had the opportunity to still get to be a kid even as he did things only one other kid had ever done before him. 

And _that’s_ why it’s on Peter in particular to make sure Ben himself was protected every time he went out as Spider-Man, whether by Peter himself or—eventually—because of the training he gave him. 

Peter’s last thoughts before he falls asleep are that no matter how proud he is of how well Ben is doing when they go out on patrol, that he can never let himself forget his biggest role—that of being Ben’s father. 

He just hopes that when things go south—because they _will,_ Parker Luck historically spans generations—that he’ll be ready.

And more importantly, that Ben will be ready too.


	4. Chapter 4

“Nice work, buddy, you’re really getting the hang of this now,” Peter praises, giving Ben a high-five after another successful solo bust of a would-be mugger. “You’re earning that Spider-Man title.”

“Thanks, Dad,” Ben says, puffing his chest out. 

Peter smiles at him behind his mask, his own chest swelling with pride. He might still have his doubts about letting his young son take on some Spider-Man duties even now, months into their regular training sessions, but he can’t deny that he’s impressed with how far Ben has come along in skills and confidence in that short time. He thinks that has more to do with Ben’s unwavering enthusiasm and discipline than his own abilities as a mentor, but Peter is deeply pleased to be a part of Ben’s journey all the same. He realizes now how right May had been--the fear never goes away, but at least Peter knows Ben is getting the training and support he needs to navigate this dangerous vocation.

Peter lays a hand on Ben’s shoulder, giving him an affectionate squeeze. “I’m really proud of you, Benji. You’re gonna be--”

Peter cuts himself off as his Spidey-sense suddenly starts screaming at him. Ben must feel it, too, because he spins around, his fists raised.

A group of terrified pedestrians are racing down the sidewalk towards them. Above and behind them, a taxi cab soars through the air, its shadow enveloping the group as the vehicle plummets towards them.

“Holy shit!” Ben says. 

Peter is already moving, thwipping out two weblines in a split-second and using them to launch himself forward. 

“Heads up!” he shouts to the panicked group as he sails over their heads, landing on the sidewalk behind them and catching the falling taxi right before they’re turned into human pancakes.

Peter staggers back a few steps under the weight of the vehicle, feeling like a knife is stabbing him in the spine as his old injury is aggravated yet again. He drops to one knee, puffing from exertion and pain as he tips the taxi over onto its wheels. He braces a hand against it, his other hand pressed against his throbbing back as he groans through clenched teeth.

“God, I’m getting too old for this,” he mutters to himself.

“Dad!”

Ben comes racing up, the lenses of his mask wide. He points down the street. “What the hell is that?”

Peter lifts his head, his Spidey-sense blaring again as he looks where Ben is pointing. A hulking, green, scaly creature is stalking towards them, wearing what appears to be the tattered shredded remains of a white lab coat. It smashes parked cars as it prowls down the street, opening its slavering, crocodilian jaws to roar and revealing rows of wickedly long, sharp teeth.

“That’s a giant angry lizard-man in a lab coat, son,” Peter replies, turning to Ben and gesturing towards the still-cowering group of people. “Clear the street. Get everyone inside. Stay with them.”

Ben looks up at him, the lenses of his mask narrowing. “Stay with them? No way--I can help you.”

Peter sighs impatiently. “Benji--”

Ben cuts him off. “ _ Spider-Man. _ I’m not leaving you alone.”

Peter clenches his jaw, making an impatient noise. But before he can press that matter further, the beast picks up another car and hurls it towards them. They both leap out of the way, rolling behind a delivery truck.

“I’ll distract it,” Ben chirps.

“Ben, wait--” Peter tries, reaching for him, but Ben is already racing out from behind the truck towards the lizard-man. 

Peter grits his teeth, thwipping out a web and swinging up and over the street. He drops down in front of the lizard, hoping to keep himself between the creature and Ben. The lizard-man roars in fury again, viciously swiping at Peter’s head with clawed hands while Peter dances backwards just out of reach. 

“Boy, a lot of the dudes I fight are ugly, but you are  _ ug-gi-ly,” _ he says, flipping backwards and landing a kick on the lizard’s jaw. It’s like kicking reinforced concrete, which isn’t a confidence booster, Peter grimly thinks as he dodges another swipe from the creature’s claws.

“You should try a little Vaseline for that skin condition, buddy. Great for soothing irritation and dryness,” Peter taunts, delivering two lightning fast jabs at the lizard’s face. The creature rocks backwards, flopping down hard onto the street where it lies stunned for a moment, snorting and shaking its head, before lunging back to its feet.

“Dad, watch out!” Ben shouts as the lizard charges at Peter with a snarl.

Peter deftly leaps out of its path, only to promptly stumble as pain flares up his back again. The creature takes advantage of his weakness, rushing him.

Peter gets a close-up view of a deep, gaping red maw lined with dagger-sharp teeth right before the jaws are snapping shut a mere inch from his face. 

“Dad, move!” Ben grunts out. He’s webbed the beast from behind and stands with his legs braced, arms straining with the effort of holding the lizard back.

“Ben, watch it!” Peter replies sharply as the lizard spins around, turning its wrath on Ben with another throaty roar.

Peter doesn’t feel any pain or fatigue now, just an all-consuming terror as he lunges after the creature that’s threatening his son, the beast rearing up on its hind legs to tower over Ben. Peter tackles it from behind, slamming into it hard and rolling over and over. He throws the lizard with all his strength, sending it hurtling through the air and smashing through the front window of the bank across the street.

Peter hauls himself to his feet, panting and feeling shaky from the aftermath of the adrenaline rush and the awful fear of knowing that his son could have been killed trying to save him.

“Dad! Dad, are you okay?” Ben asks as he runs up alongside Peter.

Peter points a finger at him and then jabs it skyward. “You--up on that building,  _ now.” _

“No way, you’re still hurt and you need my help,” Ben replies stubbornly.

“Don’t fight with me. Not this time,” Peter says in a tone that brooks no argument. “This one is way outta your league, buddy. You sit on the bleachers and watch how the pros do it, capiche? Call the police. And maybe animal control. Don’t let any dipshit civilians trying to get a picture wander through.”

“Dad, please, come on.”

The lizard seems to be recovering from its trip through the window. The ominous sound of growling and the tinkling of broken glass is coming from the bank. 

“Get up on the roof, or I’ll tell that girl in your algebra class you’re crushing on about the time you pooped in the ball pit at McDonald’s,” Peter threatens, trotting backwards towards the bank.

“Dad!” Ben shouts after him, but the threat of teenage humiliation must be enough to quell any rebellion, because he turns and begrudgingly starts climbing up the side of the building.

Relieved, Peter turns around to face his opponent, cracking his knuckles and doing some shoulder shrugs to limber up.

“Hey, big fella, did you miss me?” he asks as the lizard drags itself out of the rubble and broken glass and lumbers back onto the street, forked tongue flitting out to taste the air. It fixes Peter with a cold, reptilian stare, hissing.

“Somebody’s cranky,” Peter says, rapidly firing webs at the lizard-man to secure its arms to its sides, and then firing more webbing to seal its jaws shut.

He feels victorious for all of two seconds, and then the lizard is ripping free of the webbing with an angry roar. It tears a fire hydrant out of the ground and hurls it at Peter.

“Aw, nuts, we’re gonna have to get punchy,” Peter says regretfully as he dodges out of the way of the flying fire hydrant, stumbling a little on his landing as the pain in his back reaches a screaming crescendo. He pushes through it, snaring the hydrant with a web as it zooms past and sending it sling-shotting back at the lizard.

It smashes into the beast’s chest, making it stumble backwards doubled-over, but the lizard quickly shakes it off, charging at Peter again and swinging its thick, muscular tail at him. 

Peter darts out of the way, but not fast enough. The whipping tail catches him with a glancing blow across the thigh, but even that is enough to send Peter sprawling. He lies crumpled on the asphalt, his leg throbbing from hip to knee, groaning. The noise turns into a gurgling wheeze as a clawed hand seizes him around the throat and brutally squeezes his windpipe. 

The lizard lifts Peter off the ground, Peter’s legs dangling uselessly. It sticks its ugly scaled face in his, its jaws splitting open with a low rumbling growl.

“Woof, you need a mint, buddy,” Peter croaks out past the vice-like grip on his throat, lifting an arm to shoot webbing into the lizard’s eyes and gaping mouth. 

It drops him with a furious roar. Peter crumples to the ground, sucking gulps of air into his burning lungs. He rolls over, barely escaping the heavy thump of the lizard’s tail as it slams down onto the ground where he had been lying, cracking the asphalt. 

Peter scrambles up onto his hands and knees, only to flop back onto his stomach as a hand grabs his leg and yanks him backwards before swinging him up off the ground and hurling him through a parked car.

“Ouchies,” Peter wheezes, sprawled in the backseat of the car, dazed and covered in broken glass and bent metal. He’s considering just lying there for a moment and taking a breather, maybe a little cat nap to get his second wind, when the shattered car door is ripped off its hinges and a clawed hand closes around his ankle again.

“Ouchies,” Peter says again as the lizard hauls him out of the car and drags him across sharp little fragments of broken glass covering the street. Peter manages to kick free, landing a solid hit on the creature, but he can admit that he definitely does  _ not _ have this situation under control, a fact that is further confirmed for him when the lizard starts slamming him into the asphalt over and over.

_ I hope Ned and MJ pick good music to play at my funeral, _ he thinks distantly, and then,  _ Ben... _

It’s the thought of his kid having to watch him die that gives Peter the strength to break free again. He staggers backwards, flopping against another parked car, panting. He braces his elbows against the car and pushes himself upright, swaying on his feet and tasting copper on his tongue.

“Is that the best you got?” he asks the lizard, bringing his fists up.

The lizard-man growls, seizing hold of a motorcycle and hurling it at him.

Peter braces himself, but the soaring motorcycle comes to a sudden stop, suspended in midair. Peter blinks up at it in confusion, and then he sees the silvery strands of webbing holding up the bike.

“Hey, ugly!” Ben yells from the rooftop. “I think you dropped this!”

He flips off the roof, swinging the motorcycle around and smashing it right into the lizard’s face, slamming the creature into the ground where it lies stunned.

Ben lands gracefully on the street, and then immediately races over to Peter. “Dad! You okay?”

“Yeah,” Peter says, breathless. “Wow, kid, you really--”

He’s cut off by a roar. Lizard-man is staggering back to its feet, claws gouging ruts into the asphalt, its serrated teeth red and gleaming with blood and saliva.

“I got this, Dad,” Ben says, sounding more grown up and determined than Peter’s ever heard him sound before.

“Ben--” Peter starts anxiously, but Ben is already flipping away. Peter watches wide-eyed as Ben expertly swings himself up on a web and races sideways across the edifice of a building, launching himself off the wall and slamming feet first into the lizard’s back.

“Hey big, green, and stinky--you’re not supposed to be here,” Ben says, perching on the lizard’s shoulders and blinding the beast with a shot of webbing into its eyes. “I’m pretty sure you’re considered an invasive species.”

The lizard roars in fury and swipes blindly at him, but Ben nimbly dodges out of the way. The creature lunges at him over and over again, but Ben’s too quick for it, weaving effortlessly between its attacks. He does a backflip, landing a kick under the lizard’s chin that snaps its head back and sends it stumbling backwards into a parked car.

“Yeah, Spider-Man!” someone shouts out of one of the upper windows of the surrounding buildings.

Peter watches all of it, his heart pounding in his chest, fear and pride battling for space inside him. A helpless smile turns up the corners of his mouth under his mask as more people appear in the windows overhead, yelling and cheering for their hero. 

But the smile slips away a beat later as the lizard shoves itself up and charges at Ben, spraying frothy saliva as it roars in fury. It swings its tail at him and this time Ben is a heartbeat too slow. The tail slams into him and smashes him to the ground.

“Ben,” Peter breathes, every instinct screaming at him to run out there and save his son. But something else holds him back.

“Come on, Spider-Man!” he yells instead, hands clenched into fists at his side.

Ben lifts his head, giving it a little shake and looking over in Peter’s direction, the lenses of his mask wide.

“Come on, Spider-Man!” Peter yells again, pumping a fist in the air. “You got this, Spider-Man!”

The crowd in the windows takes up the cheer, chanting, “Come on Spider-Man! Come on, Spider-Man!”

The lenses of Ben’s mask narrow. He plants his hands on the ground and pushes himself up, getting back to his feet and standing tall, his skinny shoulders thrown back as he faces his opponent. 

The lizard roars again, agitated by the noise of the cheering. It claws at the webbing covering its eyes, tearing the silk away and glaring at Ben, hissing at it leaps forwards towards him.

Ben meets it head-on with a first to its snout. For once, Peter’s glad Ben is still working on controlling the power he puts behind his punches, because he absolutely clobbers the beast, sending it spinning around to face the opposite direction. 

The lizard takes a few staggering, reeling steps before collapsing to the street, its long red tongue lolling out of its mouth between serrated teeth as it rumbles out a low, pathetic groan.

There’s a hushed, tense pause, but once it’s clear the lizard-man is truly down and out for the count, the cheering erupts again.

“Thank you, thank you, aw man, you guys don’t gotta do that,” Ben says a little sheepishly as he shuffles around in an awkward circle. “Seriously. I’m just your friendly neighborhood Spider-Man, taking care of business. All in a day’s work.”

Peter limps over to him, grinning so wide behind his mask his cheeks hurt. He seizes Ben into a tight embrace, pressing his cheek to the top of Ben’s head.

“Hey, you earned those accolades. You were incredible. I’m so, so proud of you. You really earned your stripes today. Or webs. Whatever,” Peter says, tears blurring his vision as he squeezes Ben tighter.

“Dad, I can’t breathe,” Ben wheezes.

“Oh! Sorry, bud,” Peter says, smiling as he releases him. “Nice work saving the day, Spider-Man. Those were some impressive moves.”

Ben shrugs, but his voice is pleased. “What can I say--I learned from the master. Couldn’t have done it without you, Dad.”

Peter rubs the top of his head. “Let’s go home, kiddo. Leave the lizard to the cops. I need an ice bath and a bottle of aspirin.”

He launches off a web, swinging himself up into the air. Ben sails right along beside him, effortlessly keeping up.

“Does this mean I get to patrol on my own now?” Ben asks as the soar above the city streets.

“Mmm, that’s gonna be a negatory.”

“What? Why not? I totally kicked that thing’s ass.”

“Okay, okay...how about you can patrol on your own-- _ occasionally-- _ but on a leash,” Peter amends. “I’ll set up the ‘ol baby monitor protocol so I can still keep an eye on you.”

“A  _ loose  _ leash,” Ben insists. “And you have to rename the baby monitor protocol to something less embarrassing.”

“We’ll talk about it.”

“Dad! I’m serious.”

“Sorry, son,” Peter says cheerfully. “I can’t hear you over the ringing in my ears.”

Ben groans as he swings along beside him.  _ “Dad!” _

* * *

“So what happened next?” 

“Well, right after that was when Dad was basically like, ‘Help me Ben, you’re my only hope’ and–”

“Quoting Star Wars while I was getting pummeled into the ground, huh? Wow,” Peter mildly interjects, shooting an amused look around the table.

“I believe it,” Happy deadpans, everyone else nodding along.

Peter frowns. “Now just because I’ve been known to get a little quippy and distracted during a fight doesn’t mean–”

“Shush, both of you,” Tony says, waving an arm at them but keeping his gaze on Ben. “What happened next, Benji?”

“Okay, so like I said, after the Lizard threw Dad into a car like it was nothing, he started slamming him down over and over and  _ over _ again. Seriously, Grandpa Tony, the Lizard was  _ really  _ kicking his ass–”

Peter lets out a loud guffaw, ears turning red. “I think you’re exaggerating just a tiny bit there, son. How about we move on? Where’s that pie you brought, May?”

“No no, let him continue, I want to hear the rest of the story,” Tony says with a smirk, then looking down at where Anna is nestled in his arms and staring up at him curiously, “Right, sweetheart? We want to hear all about how your big brother saved your creaky old man from the Big Bad Liz–”

“You’re calling  _ me  _ creaky?” Peter asks, leveling a stare. “Really?”

“What?” Tony responds with a shrug. “I’m not the one who winced just sitting down in my chair a few minutes ago, isn’t that right Annie?”

Anna blows a spit bubble as if in agreement, getting a laugh out of Happy and May.

Peter rolls his eyes petulantly. “Oh, that’s really rich coming from the guy who has been in denial about needing a knee replacement for  _ at least  _ three years.”

_ That  _ gets a stifled laugh from both Pepper and Michelle, to Peter’s triumph.

Tony looks back up at Peter, his eyes narrowing. “I’ll have you know it only ever twinges when I climb too many stairs, which is hardly a reason to consider a major oper–”

“That’s enough of being old grumps from  _ both _ of you,” May teases, Ben giggling at the twin frowns on his Dad and Grandpa Tony’s faces. “And yes, I would love some pie, Peter. It’s on the kitchen counter.”

“Dessert coming right up,” Peter says, standing up—biting the inside of his cheek so as not to let on when his back throbs at the movement. 

Clearly he didn’t do a good enough job, as Happy chimes in with, “You  _ have _ been taking this week off finally, right kid?”

Peter grimaces, rubbing the back of his neck. “Kinda hard to disappear from work for a week when your entire work project’s in crisis because your lab director turned themselves into a real-life version of Godzilla.”

“But I thought the Future Foundation gave you an emergency grant, in light of the circumstances?” Pepper asks.

“Yes, but only enough to keep things running for an extra month. It’s just so I have enough time to review all of Dr. Connor’s work and resubmit a proposal,” Peter explains, only for Michelle to rise from her seat and gently wrap an arm around his back. 

“What Peter means to say is that he is  _ absolutely  _ going to work from home this week, and let the lab assistants handle the day-to-day,” she announces to the group with a smile, kissing her husband’s cheek. “Because your health is more important than being at the lab. Isn’t that right, Pete?”

Peter sighs, shaking his head fondly only to smile at her. “If that’s what the boss says…”

“That’s  _ exactly  _ what the boss says,” Michelle flirtatiously jokes back, giving him another peck on the cheek.

“I can’t watch anymore,” Ben grumbles, putting his hands over his eyes. 

“C’mon Pete, I’ll come help you with the pie,” Michelle says with a laugh, taking Peter’s hand and leading him into the kitchen.

She pulls out plates and utensils while Peter starts cutting the pie into slices, Peter laughing to himself as he hears Ben continue his—if Peter’s honest, anyway—only  _ somewhat _ far fetched retelling of the fight just days before. 

Because it was true, his son  _ had  _ saved him. Had saved everyone, in fact.

“What’s on your mind, tiger?” Michelle says quietly, sidling up beside him and setting down the whipped cream. 

“Just thinking about how things are probably going to only get crazier now that I’m in charge at the lab,” Peter says, letting out a long breath. “But it’s funny. Even with knowing that…”

“You’re not as worried as you were before, when you first started training Benji?” Michelle offers with a smile.

Peter smiles back. “Yeah. He’s really come into his own, Em. He’s going to make a better Spider-Man than me, someday.”

“Only because  _ you _ taught him how to be,” Michelle says, wrapping him up in a half hug and setting her head on his shoulder. “Everything’s okay, then?”

Peter nods, kissing Michelle’s hair before leaning his own head atop hers. “Yeah, it is. It took some time, but I think I finally got the hang of this.”

Just then there’s a loud crash from the living room, followed shortly by Ben calling out, “Everything’s fine!” only for Tony to follow it up with, “Ben’s just giving me a small demonstration of the fight!”

“Hey, what did I say about indoor reenactments, Ben?” Peter shouts back. “You can’t climb on the walls!”

Another crash sounds not a few seconds later, Peter wincing to himself only to pinch the bridge of his nose.

“Don’t worry, I’ll fix it!” Ben calls out before Peter can reprimand him again.

At the tired expression on Peter’s face, Michelle just laughs again. “You’re a good dad, Spider-Man.”

Peter doesn’t answer verbally, just gives her a grateful kiss. The two of them grab plates of pie, Peter following Michelle toward the dining room only for her to pause in her steps and glance playfully back at him. 

“But you know, you’re probably going to have to do this all over again in about 13 years with Anna. And by then you really  _ will  _ be an old man—for a superhero anyway.”

Peter groans. “Don’t remind me.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading <3


End file.
